Bonfires
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: Eowyn teaches Faramir a thing or two about dancing. Fluffy oneshot.


**Author's Note: **I have been writing so much angst and tragedy lately, that I just had to write some pointless fluff. The festival Eowyn and Faramir attend in Rohan is of my own making, though I somewhat based it on the autumn celtic holiday of Samhain. Read, review, criticize. All feedback is greatly appreciated. I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Bonfires**

'_Then come love, let us dance all night_

_Until the birds they waken at the dawn_

_Then come love, let us sing all night_

_And all our loves with slumber with a song'_

_Loreena McKennit 'The Gates of Istanbul'_

There was music. Wild music, sometimes loud. Sometimes faint and calling. Faramir shut his eyes and listened, his ears straining to catch every sound. The fires crackled and gnawed at fresh logs, some still green with the summer's warmth. He leaned back against the grass and let the wind sweep over him, roaring in the plains below and calling to the dead who had long since passed from the land.

"Surely you do not sleep." He cracked open one eye and then the other. Eowyn stood over him. Her long hair dangled down across her face and seemed to swing in time with the music.

"Nay, fair lady." Faramir sat up with blades of dried grass sticking to his hair. Eowyn laughed high and loud. She crouched down beside him, smelling of wood and smoke and singing bonfires.

"I should hope not. Such fun you would miss. Come, husband, the night is young." She raised her right hand and seemed to brush the bright stars with her fingertips. "And the music has just begun."

"You rhyme now, my bard?" he asked with a chuckle. She shook her head.

"I have no such skill and I leave lore to you. But come with me a while and we shall dance."

Faramir stared at his young wife for a full minute. With his hands, his stroked the grass and felt the cool soil beneath his flesh. A round moon sailed in the skies and lit the plains with silver, sometimes gold in the places where the bonfires burned. Rohan was celebrating.

Eowyn had explained the festivities while they traveled and truth be told, he had forgotten most of the intricacies. She had said much of the end of summer and the turning of time and honoring the dead along with the harvest. But they had no such feasts and fierce merry-making within stony Minas Tirith. No, there all was bound in solemnity and those that danced did so slowly and with grace, not wild abandon.

"Come." Now Eowyn had one of his hands between hers. "On your feet, Man! I mean to dance with you."

Faramir dug his heels into the soil. "Let us sit for a while." And gently, he pulled her onto the ground beside him. She knelt and frowned.

"We might sit any time and in any place."

"Ah, but not when the stars are so friendly. See how they smile." He pointed upwards and something of the old Elven blood that once flowed through Numenor quickened him. His nostrils quivered like a wild horse careening across Eowyn's beloved plains. Rich, warm scents spiced the night and he would not lose his contentment to embarrassment.

"They smile so we might dance," Eowyn said. Her voice was like the music, low and rolling. "Come, love."

Again she was on her feet and pulling at him. Faramir resisted more heartily this time. Eowyn took a step back, her arms stretched out before her, clad in some soft raiment that looked colorless beneath the moonlight.

"Eowyn, please," Faramir tried persuasion and his voice had a nervous edge to it.

"I do not quite understand, Man of Gondor," she said. Her head tilted to the side with a look of thorough confusion - and determination.

"There is nothing quite so puzzling in this," he growled, not in anger but in effort. She nearly had him on his feet now and he stiffened his legs, trying to sit flat upon the ground.

Suddenly, Eowyn released him. Faramir fell and the once soft ground now seemed terribly hard beneath his buttocks. He rubbed his thighs with an indignant huff.

"I see it now," Eowyn said somewhat breathlessly. "I should never have guessed it from the first. Oh, my darling Faramir!"

He looked up at her through narrowed eyes. "What is this mischief you have conjured?"

Eowyn clapped her hands to her mouth, leaned forward and whispered. "You cannot dance?"

Faramir hated the delight in her eyes. She thought this was all a grand jest, just as Boromir had whenever he moved masterfully to the tunes of minstrels. His brother, while large and ungainly in appearance, had the feet of a swan. Unfortunately, Faramir could not boast such a talent.

A pity, he thought now with a frown. He did so enjoy the music.

"Why did you not tell me from the first?" Eowyn said. She threw herself down beside him.

"Shame," Faramir said. That very emotion now made his cheeks burn and he was happy for the darkness. Eowyn's fingers lit on his hair and traced the curve of his ear.

"Silly little Faramir, it is easily remedied!"

"You should tell such to my old dance master," he said, his chin cupped in his hands. "Oh the poor fellow did try and so did I. But you will find me quite lame-footed. I always have been."

"Lame-footed?" Eowyn tasted the word on her smiling lips. "No, I do not think so."

"It is so." And now Faramir's indignity returned. "I have borne such a hindrance for many years."

Eowyn shook with laughter and managed to get to her feet. "Then I shall rid you of it."

"Impossible."

"Such little faith in one's own wife!" She pulled him to a stand.

"Eowyn, this is no matter for mirth," he said. "I simply do not wish to dance before a crowd of howling Rohirrim. Spare my dignity, at the very least."

"And now he insults my kin," she said, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.

"I only meant-

"You shall have to repay me…with a dance."

Faramir sighed, his shoulders rising and falling like the peaks of a mountain. "Is there no way to convince you otherwise?"

"No." Eowyn squeezed his hand and led him down the small hill on which he had lain. At the foot of the mound, a bonfire burned. Laughter choked the air and rode the wind. From far-off came the light sounds of music. Faramir closed his eyes once more and listened.

"It is very simple," Eowyn said. Her voice mingled with the drums and the harp and the high, keening flute played by only the most skilled minstrels. "We do not put much store in formality and rules this night. You must only dance to the music as it tells you and do no more. There is time enough for courtly gambols, but not on this night."

To her credit, she did not make him stand in the midst of the dancers, but rather on the very fringe of the light where the shadows grew.

Faramir's palms were slick with sweat and humiliating memories seared across his mind. Eowyn seemed to read his thoughts, stepping apart from him and shaking her fiery mane.

"Ah no! Think of nothing else save the music. Listen. It speaks just as readily as you or I."

And then with a wild cry, his wife began to dance. Her feet made patterns on the earth, her back twisting as she leaned into the fire and then pulled away. Faramir watched her and the smile carved upon her countenance. Free she seemed and happy.

Taking a single step forward, he began to move side to side, shakily at first. Eowyn said nothing, but continued on in her spinning dance, sometimes stumbling, sometimes leaping, but always smiling.

Faramir followed her as best he could, but soon learned her movements were not to be mimicked. Instead, he picked a path of his own and let the wind race over him, brushing away the heat of embarrassment.

Soon, he gained some confidence and caught his wife in his arms. Together they danced as the flutes shrieked and the voices of bonfire rumbled past. Eowyn laughed and Faramir joined in…until his foot collided with her shin.

She yelped and fell into him. Faramir was caught off guard by the sudden weight pressed against his side and they tumbled to the ground. He sat up quickly, nothing less than furious with himself.

"Lame-footed, now you see," he lamented. But Eowyn pushed herself up on her elbows, panting with laughter.

"I should think not. You dance well, when you have a mind to, or not I should say. The more you worry over the matter, the worse it becomes. Do you not see?"

Faramir shook his head. "No. I am afraid not. I must have looked like a flapping goose blundering about."

Eowyn frowned. "Then I have taught you nothing," she said with a sigh. Faramir felt his chest tighten at the sight of her disappointed face. They sat in silence for a long moment, until a new song was struck up by the minstrels. Faramir stood suddenly.

"My lady, will you dance with me?"

She stared up at him. "Faramir I-

"Never mind that now. Will you dance with me?"

He did not have to ask once more. Eowyn bounded to her feet and pulled him further into the light.

Faramir smiled as he watched his wife dance and soon joined in with her. His love for her was enough to wash away his hatred for the pastime and quite enough to keep him on his feet until dawn.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Like I said, just a little spot of fluff. Thanks so much for reading! And Happy St. Patrick's Day, from this (partly) Irish lass. 


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